


The Game

by Lost_childe (tamy_blue)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamy_blue/pseuds/Lost_childe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New drabble, this time with Spike and Wesley, but no, there is nothing sexual, just our two englishment  together playing chess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:"The characters are not mine, belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the W. B, UPN and FOX, or whoever has now their rights, and I'm only using them for this story. Which it belongs to me, and that no pursuing any business purpose."

 

 

 

Wesley strokes his chin, eyes nailed on the board before him. He leans a little forward, as if it could help him see the response, the right movement. He is not in a very good mood, after attending the dreadful spectacle of how, move after move and despite his efforts, his tidy defense fell under the attacks of his rival.  
The situation is not easy for him; a bishop and a pawn have caught his tower (his only one) and the shadow of the dark queen looms over his king. He focuses in the game and finally, with the triumphant face of one who finds the answer in a stroke of lucidity, Wesley decides to move his knight. From the other side of the chessboard his opponent’s face remains impassive, although the former Watcher notices the teasing brightness in his eyes.  
However, Wesley is not scared, he knows he might lose his own bishop, or that pawn that protects his queen, but it is a calculated risk, and one for which he has already raised several defensive moves.  
Under his blue eyes, a landscape of precise lines and angles is drawn among the squares, as routes of course a captain outlines on his spherical chart, accurate and reliable to the millimeter. He can feel the close revenge, in his head he has plotted the following attacks to punish his opponent, until the king falls...  
“Check” States his opponent with a deep voice, after moving an unexpected pawn, disrupting Wesley’s plans. Wesley leans again on the board, realizing that once more his straight lines have become a shambles of curves, lights and shadows. Damn it!  
“And checkmate in the next” Wesley regrets admitting his defeat. The vampire is a fierce, unpredictable rival, he does not follow the typical logic of a chess player. Spike usually gets tired of waiting and attacks relentlessly, but under the superficial recklessness, Wesley knows there are lots of intelligence, cunning and experience. Strategies learned over the years, in other boards, in the fields of bloodier and also less theoretical battles. Watching how Spike plays, Wesley can picture him running wild between columns of smoke and screams of men fleeing haggard. It is also easy to imagine the blond vampire facing a fireplace, in a well-off Victorian living room, fine wooden furniture and wearing elegant clothes, perfectly ironed and starchy. There is something in the way he touches the pieces and moves them on the white and black squares that belies the vulgarity of his appearance; an upper-class indolence owned only by the ones born with it.  
Wesley surrenders to the evidence and rests on his chair, smiling bitterly to his opponent as he clears the chessboard.  
“Someday your good luck will be over, and I’ll beat you.” Spike laughs through his teeth, and Wesley knows why; it’s never been about luck, but about ability, to be able to be ahead of the contrary and execute the right moves: as in war, or in a fight to death. In both skills, Wesley regrets, the vampire has a great advantage over him. His arm is as effective moving rooks and pawns as wielding a sword. Wesley should have known it.  
“When would you like to play again?” The blond asks him with an amber brightness in his eyes, smacking his lips with the anticipation of a new hunt. The damned vampire beats Wesley four out of every five games.  
“Go to hell, Spike” The Watcher growls sinking a little more in his loveseat, his pride battered. The vampire finally bursts into laughter, which only makes Wesley sulk deeper. Nevertheless, when the vampire silently offers him a drink of Angel’s favourite whiskey, Wesley accepts it gratefully. The man sips his drink while watching the cat-like walk of Spike around the room, a little absent-minded, a smile still drawn on his lips. Wesley takes a longer drink making the ice clink, and sighs before answering with an apparently indifferent wave of his hand.  
“I think that… the day after tomorrow, this same time, will be all right”


End file.
